


Call Me a Sinner, Not a Saint

by Backbiter222



Category: Original Work
Genre: Beginings, Children, Crime, Death, Endings, Evil, Fire, Gen, God - Freeform, Good, Match, Mistake, Murder, Planned, Sinner, saint - Freeform, screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 18:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17965832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Backbiter222/pseuds/Backbiter222
Summary: Call me a sinner. I deserve it.Call me a saint. I deserve it.This is my story, mine and mine alone. I ask only that you do not judge me till the end, and when you do, don't judge to harshly.





	Call Me a Sinner, Not a Saint

**Author's Note:**

> The song "Call Me" by Shinedown inspired me heavily. I hope you like this story, and please leave a comment if you do. Thanks!

Call me a sinner. I deserve it. I know I did wrong. I know it’s over, but I can’t put it behind me. 

Call me a saint. I deserve it. I know I did right. I know it’s over, but I can’t put it behind me.

Can a thousand good deed wipe out on bad one? Does one mistake, one blunder, one sin, does it make you a sinner? Does one fire, twenty deaths, does that break you?

What if they were children?

I’ve said it so many times, God knows I’ve tried. Tried to do good. Living out of a suitcase is hard, living off convenience stores a hindrance. But what I’ve done, was it worth it?

It’s over now, so I think I’ll tell it. Tell my story. I think I’ll call it, “Call me a Sinner, not a Saint”.

  
  


The building was supposed to be empty. I had been scouting it for weeks, taking notes, pictures, making maps. The people who lived there were gone, long since moved on. The building itself was condemned, doomed for a life of solitude until the weather struck it down. Or until I did.

 

When she told me she wanted me to burn down a building, I thought she was joking. But she was so insistent. And I’d do anything for her. Anything. I had sworn up and down, sideways and backwards. I’ve said it so many times, I’d change my ways for her. But this, this gave me pause.

 

I said I’d do it. Call me a sinner, call me a failure. Call me what you will, I know I was weak. I know I deserve it. Just please, please hear me out.

 

She let me pick the building. Gave me an area, a five mile radius for where she wanted it done. Looking back, I think she knew exactly where I would pick. I think she planned this whole thing.

 

The night I went to do it, it was the last time I saw her. On the way out the door, I left my key on the kitchen table. I finally put it all together, nothing really lasts forever, especially when you have to make a choice that’s not yours.

 

I had to say goodbye to her for the last time. I knew if I did this, if I burned this, I could never go back. Back to a life of church, of parties, of friends, of family, of love. I put my life in a suitcase and walked out the door.

 

I never looked back.

 

Call me a sinner. The building was supposed to be empty. No one had been inside for months. It was beyond deserted, and beyond deadly to anyone who entered. I wonder if there was a reason she asked me to do it that night. I wonder if she knew.

 

Knew the house would be filled. 

 

The piles of kindling were set, the fuel was in place. The gasoline tanks were on the porch. I was ready. I soaked the outside and lit the match. I dropped it and turned to go. 

 

Then I heard the screams.

 

Call me a saint. They did, until they learned the truth. Call me a sinner, like they did. I managed to save five people. Only five. In one night I lost my love, my life, became a murderer and arsonist, and lost my way. I sinned in the worst way. 

 

I ran. I ran and ran and ran and ran. I never stopped, I never went back, I never stayed in the same place for more than a month. I never loved again.

 

Call me a sinner. I deserve it. What I did I did of my own free will. It was terrible, unforgivable, irreversible. But I tired to atone. Gods knows I tried. Everywhere I went I helped. I helped everyone.

 

I built houses. I cooked food. I saved lives. I did nothing but help every lost soul, every starving person, every homeless child, everyone. For each life I took, I saved a thousand more. 

 

Call me a saint. They do.

 

I thought this would be longer. I thought I would fill pages and pages with words about who I was, what I did, why it happened. Why I was innocent. Why I was blameless. But that’s not true. I see that now. The truth is simple. It’s short, painful, and true. 

 

The more I write, the more I lie.

 

I’ll stop soon.

 

The way I went, straight into the mouth of the unknown, was tough. I helped many people, I saved many lives. But I took twenty from that group of children. Can that be forgiven? 

 

And I a sinner or a saint?

 

I think only one man can decide. And He’s not a man.

 

I’ll be on my way now. Thanks for listening.

 

And if you ever see a older woman named Calantha, tell her I forgive her. But He won’t.


End file.
